2 Sometimes It Hurts
by Chariel
Summary: Songfic. Noir searches for Florian after he leaves following an argument and fails to return that night...


Sometimes It Hurts

(Stabbing Westward)

By Basicblack  


_Six o'clock in the morning_

_My head is ready to explode_

_I can't believe I made it home alive_

Noir stumbled gracelessly against the side of a building, dashing fine lines of dust onto his usually immaculate cape and grazing his hand as he pushed himself roughly away from it to continue his haphazard progress down the road. He was disgusted with himself for getting into such a state in a public place such as this, but now there was nothing to be done about it. He just had to get home and he would be able to collapse in a warm bed and sleep this off. If he was lucky nobody would be awake. The wintery street had barely begun to lighten as a harbinger of dawn, and nobody in his household should have business at this hour. Nobody, perhaps, except him.

_I don't remember where I went or what I was drinking_

_I know it made me sick, and I'm not denying that_

_I get this way_

_When I try to get over you_

_I get this way_

_When I try to get over you_

At around midnight he had all but given up on the hope of finding Florian, slanting into a pub and telling himself his companion might have fled there. By two o'clock he was almost convinced he didn't care if he never saw Florian again, and women's laughter rang loudly in his ears. He dispassionately allowed their gaudy, revealing dresses and obnoxiously obvious overtures distract him for a while. By three o'clock he had rejected the advances of one who had been over-confident of her chances, telling her with inebriated honesty he found her repulsive, and he had eventually been kicked out of whatever establishment he had been in at the time. He found somewhere he could buy a bottle of something strong and barely palatable and took himself out onto the street to drink it.

Here he was, at around six or perhaps seven, feeling more depressed and bleak than he had done at the beginning of the whole debacle, just trying to keep to some semblance of a straight line as he trod reassuringly familiar streets towards his abode. It was pathetic, and well he knew it. Out of character for him, he liked to think. Of course, he knew who to blame for all this.

_Sometimes it hurts so much to lose the one you love_

_Sometimes it hurts so much to lose the one you love_

For over a year he had lived with Florian du Rochefort having purchased him in exchange for clearing his family's vast debts. Initially the arrangement had amused him - new things always did for a little while. He liked to enjoy each unique item he acquired, whether it came as payment for his financial services, or was appropriated less openly under cover of darkness. Florian very quickly turned out to be different. He was less a possession than an occupation, and, occasionally, in the small hours of the night when Noir would briefly confess it to himself, an obsession.

No interest he had ever had was more abiding than his human belonging. When he tired of a book he could leave a marker in it and set it aside, and jewels kept carefully in boxes didn't even require so much as polishing or dusting. Florian couldn't be so easily discarded, and when put in a box he invariably found his way out far sooner than was desirable. Essentially though Noir didn't _want_ to ignore him, and that was the great problem.

Spirits had liberated his mind briefly to dwell on other, fleeting things that could momentarily gain great importance for him. Then the unwelcome realisation that he didn't truly wish to forget had begun to impinge itself on his temporary amusement, and his body had begun the many-faceted process of removing the alcohol he had imbibed from his system, and by now he just wished to God he had held his tongue earlier. Such a simple thing as choosing his words carefully for once and he would be in bed asleep now, and Florian would be in his own room rather than who knew where, doing who knew what. Noir shivered involuntarily in the chill morning air.

_I tried so hard to hate you_

_But it only makes things worse_

_I only end up hating myself_

_And as my hatred grows so do the lies_

_It's hard to face the truth sometimes_

_God, I feel so useless_

"It's not like I haven't seen you naked before." The words had fallen casually from his mouth, and later on he couldn't even remember the conversation that had preceded them. Then again it may have been more of a heated debate than a conversation. It always seemed to go that way when he tried to express himself to Florian, which was why he largely didn't bother. The sentence reduced Florian to a momentary, seething silence when Noir had hoped for some sort of outburst, so he pressed on in the hope of provoking the desired response. "And touched you - "

"What's that supposed to mean?" The blonde bit back. He had long since pushed himself out of the armchair he had been settled in across the floor from Noir and begun pacing like something wild and caged. He was still now, those lovely eyes filled with nothing but hurt pride and resentment. "When - ?" He couldn't even bring himself to repeat the words.

"When you were _indisposed_." Noir waved a hand dismissively, thinking it would be nice to escape this argument and even nicer if he could sit quietly somewhere and smoke a cigar. "I dressed you, and bathed you." Someone had needed to look after him. He hadn't done it for personal amusement, he had done it because . . . Florian was his responsibility.

"You - were thinking - after - ?" He had the wrong end of the stick, Noir surmised shrewdly from his disjointed rant. He began to explain tiredly it hadn't been anything like that, but Florian was not going to be placated now. "I don't believe you. I know you lack all moral fibre but I never thought you'd take advantage - of _me_ - " Noir frowned. That was low.

"Is this because my bloodline isn't purely inbred French aristocracy? Are we back to the fact that you essentially think you're better than me because you had a fine upbringing with all the advantages of your position - ?" It was inadvisable to rise to the bait when Florian was in a temper, but he was starting to become irritating, and it had already been a long day. They had been sniping at each other all evening and it had been inevitable it would all come to a head sooner or later if neither retreated, and both were too proud to withdraw, and too young to know why they should.

"I may be _inbred_ but at least I'm not a filthy pervert. You're despicable - "

"And you should remember your place." Noir reminded him in a dark tone, his anger barely held in check. Did Florian really believe he was capable of such a transgression of his trust? After all they had been through, and all the time they had spent together, obviously he still harboured uncertainties beneath his apparently amiable surface.

"Where is my place, Noir?" Florian challenged, the unsteady light from the fire flickering over him, illuminating his fierce beauty. "Beneath you? I'd rather be destitute than live my whole life like that."

"Then get out. You'll quickly find the only job you're good for and maybe you'll be able to make some money at it. You can send that to me and maybe make an inroad into your mountainous debt. It's about time you actually considered paying it off." For a breathless few seconds they glared at each other, both knowing this wasn't what they wanted and neither willing to admit it for a second. Then Florian emitted a sharp breath and turned away.

"So be it." He murmured, removing himself from the room. Noir hadn't realised he was serious until he heard the front door slam.

_God I hate myself when I try to get over you_

_I hate myself, will I ever get over you?_

Caring for someone was a weakness he would likely never have chosen to afford himself. It was a weakness more than one of his enemies had taken advantage of, and they would probably continue to do so. Inconvenient as it was he wouldn't give it up for anything. Inherantly that was the whole point.

His eyes seemed to insist the way before him was greatly more mobile than it actually was. Cobblestones weaved merry, dizzying patterns as he continued focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. He blinked firmly and struggled against the alcohol that remained to mess up his brain, and his thoughts rebelliously returned once again to the one thing that had been bothering him all night, even at the peak of his delirium - where was Florian? He had a wonderful talent for getting himself into trouble, and he had been gone for more than eight hours . . .

_Sometimes it hurts so much to lose the one you love_

_Sometimes it hurts so much to lose the one you love_

Finally, as he swung widely round a corner, his goal came into view. It meant nothing but a warm bed to him now, his own house. The rich items within, and the loyal friends who shared it with him, were nothing now. He knew well enough he wasn't in his right mind, but still he envisaged coming home to this place each day and night over the coming weeks and he felt hollow and empty. The one thing that had come to mean the most to him was gone.

He was not a man accustomed to being denied things he wanted. As he approached the front door he reminded himself who he was - not some insolvent youth who frequented the drinking establishments every night in an ill-conceived attempt to escape the miseries of his daily life. He was rich, and every day he got richer, and with money came power. He would use that power to find his errant belonging if it cost him everything. When he found him perhaps he would even allow himself a moment's warm gratitude before punishing him mercilessly for his transgression. How dare he reduce Noir to _this_?

_And after all this time you'd think I'd understand the way you feel, but no_

_I only think about myself_

_And it's driving you away_

_I always knew it would one day_

Trying with almost painful concentration to be as quiet as possible, Noir let himself into the house. It occurred to him as he did so that there was a reason why all his rather poorly considered passes at Florian were shot down in flames, and he didn't like the realisation. He hadn't so much as allowed himself to consider the possibility that Florian might reciprocate any feelings he may or may not have - it was confused in his own mind - so perhaps that was why he never considered how his words and deeds might affect him. It was easy to dismiss his strong reactions as him being overly sensitive, but perhaps that wasn't it at all.

It was a moot point anyway. However Florian felt he was gone, and if it had been him Noir felt sure he wouldn't have returned. Why go back to being owned and insulted? Perhaps there _were_ distant family members he could lodge with, people who would be able to get him back on his feet and arrange some small business for him. Noir found himself hating these faceless, nameless, possibly non-existant people. At least that scenario was better than the alternative, where he didn't find anyone to help him, only more people who would want to take advantage of him.

_Sometimes it hurts so much to lose the one you love_

_Sometimes it hurts so much to lose the one you love_

He dragged himself laboriously up the stairs. It was not so much that he found it difficult now, though it was by no means the easy task it should have been, as a lack of his usual spirit and willing. At least he had encountered none of the folk who lodged with him, and this provided a grim sort of satisfaction. He had let himself go shamefully for a night, but nobody knew about it except him, and he was a master of lying to himself about things. Reaching his bedroom door he wrenched it savagely open and slipped inside, letting it drop back into the frame behind him and leaning against it.

When the brief rush of success ebbed briskly away his eyes fell on his bed, and he realised with a start there was someone on it. The someone was not in any way prepared for sleep, still fully-clothed and shod, and looked like they may have waited there a long time before finally succumbing to sleep. Noir stared dumbly at the figure for a moment before thinking to remove his cape, dropping it over a convenient chair and drawing closer to the bed.

"Idiot." He murmured under his breath, bending to untie the shoes from Florian's feet where they dangled over the edge of the bed. He even smiled as he considered taking off the trousers as well, but that sort of thing could be misconstrued and he wasn't sure why the youth was there yet. He straightened, clasped the bed post to steady himself while his head cleared, then looked down at the sleeper. After a minute he peeled back the covers and dragged the dead weight upwards so his tangled blonde tresses fell over the pillow.

Florian mumbled something incoherent and actually opened his eyes as the covers were drawn over him, but he just smiled sleepily as Noir froze and closed them again. He probably hadn't even woken up properly. Noir was suddenly very aware of how unclean he was, and how very long it had been since his last cigar, so after an indulgent while spent watching Florian sleep he removed himself to the bathroom. If he was going to sleep in Florian's bed he would have the courtesy to bathe beforehand, and he didn't think he could sleep just yet anyway.

He was, at this moment in time, so relieved that the righteous anger he would work up later had not even found purchase yet. He was, in fact, so pleased he was of half a mind not to drag Florian into the cellars and castigate him at all, but he would have to see how he felt later.

The End 


End file.
